We Can't Go Home
by mooncustafer
Summary: Cecil had been shocked to learn the Radio Station had been sold, and he didn't trust these Strexcorps people; but he had no idea just how bad the situation was. Cecil's appearance left canonically vague.
1. Chapter 1

_The Streetcleaner Shelter had proved useful, and the Invisible Teleporting Clocktower, which sounded like a money-laundering scheme by the City Council, turned out to be real. The Waterfront Complex is built on the edge of an ocean that will someday exist._

Carlos was out of his lab the moment his brain had parsed the syllable "Strex-"

By the time Cecil had read the corporation's full name over the air, the scientist was past Big Rico's and down the street, running for the radio station that no longer belonged to Night Vale. The broadcaster was exiting the small (or small-seeming) building with a nervous glance back over his shoulder at someone in the front lobby. Carlos waved to him frantically from behind a Saturn Astra, and Cecil met his eyes and blinked slowly enough for Carlos to realize it was a signal. He crouched out of sight behind the compact vehicle as his boyfriend strolled casually away from the station and any observers therein.

Passing the car, Cecil winked an eye in confirmation that Carlos had read his intentions, and mouthed the words "Dark Owl Records." He had thrown a large purple hoodie, too large for his frame, over his tunic, and some of its folds bulged oddly as he walked on. The words "Night Vale Scorpions" were emblazoned across the back.

Carlos counted the word "steamboat" thirty times before he allowed himself to peer around the car's fender towards the radio station. Not only was no one visible at the door, it no longer had a door. A large yellow banner, hanging from the front overhang of the facade, read "STREX" in block letters above a radiant smiley-face that had no eyes, not even dots.

In one of the more dimly-lit aisles towards the back of Dark Owl Records the two men drifted towards each other as if by gravitational pull; but Carlos fixed his eyes on a bin marked "E - Everly Brothers - Evisceration, Sounds of." He whispered:

"Cecil. Are you all right?"

"For now, my Carlos." A pause: "Carlos - they told me to come in tomorrow for Re-Education. I've never been Re-Educated by someone who wasn't either Station Management or the Sheriff's Secret Police. I don't know if Strex will be better or worse. I rather fear they will be worse." He pretended to thumb through a bin of Tammy Wynette albums, but there was a barely-perceptible tremor in his right hand.

"You can't let them. Cecil - they're the owners of the other station."

_The sky above the Dark Owl Records, above the whole town of Night Vale, was bright and empty of clouds. It was empty of everything but the yellow sun and the yellow helicopters._

The barely-perceptible tremor became a perceptible tremor.

"Listen -" Carlos clenched his jaw, teeth aching at the memory of Kevin's creepily-sweet intonations. "After the Sandstorm, I got a second radio with a recording feature, and spent some time trying to find the Desert Bluffs signal - I had to set up a dish, but I managed to record a few episodes of Kevin's show for later study. But I when I checked them to see if I'd picked anything up, I got a commercial break full of Strexcorps slogans. Oh Cecil, I think they run that whole town."

Cecil let out a low growl, startling his boyfriend, before whispering:

"Sorry, that wasn't me." He unzipped the hoodie a couple of inches and Carlos saw Koshchek's glaring yellow eyes peering out. "I couldn't leave him and the kittens at their mercy. So when they showed me out I got Intern Chad's hoodie that was still hanging on the coat rack, and said I had to use the men's room first. Oh sweet Carlos, what are we going to do? I could protest to the City Council - I mean, even if all they do in response is to call me in for Re-Education, at least the new station management won't be able to, because I can't be in two places at once. It's impossible to be in an even number of-."

A shadow fell across the pair, but it was only Buddy Holly; his eyes were sombre behind his iconic glasses.

"They are getting closer," he said, gesturing towards the front of the shop with a John Lee Hooker record. "You have five minutes, I'd bet. _En lo que el hacha va y viene, el palo descansa._" In a louder voice, he twanged "Yep, I convinced the store to put things back the way they were. If you go to the very back, there's even a bin of Mongolian Throat-Singing, next to the fire exit."

Behind Buddy Holly, Cecil could see that two people wearing suits and yellow ties had entered and seemed to be arguing with the cashier. He nodded in understanding.

"_Saludos,_" whispered the rock'n'roll legend, as our heroes ducked out the back of the record shop.

_Back at the radio station, mysterious figures worked with buckets and paint rollers. Figures clad in bright yellow T-shirts._

"Ok, but his Spanish has a really weird accent," Cecil was saying.

"I think it was Puerto Rican Spa - "

"Hi there!" The blandly casual greeting was delivered in a blandly casual tone that somehow affected the brain like the sound of a million small creatures being tortured.

Carlos had never actually seen Kevin in person, and he always wondered if the resemblance was really as strong as Cecil had described to him.

It was.

More so than he could have imagined. Every hair, every freckle was identical. Only the voice was different. No - somehow _everything_ was different. If every line of Cecil's face and body had significance - and it did - on Kevin it meant the opposite.

"I know what you're thinking," Kevin smiled. "No, really, I know what you're thinking, Cecil. But really, you should view this as an opportunity. After all, you're a team player, even if you don't realize it. We've crunched the numbers, and your communication, motivational and inspirational skills have led Night Vale to a 98% citizen retention ratio since the old Station Mangement put you on the air. The last thing Strexcorps wants to do is to fix what isn't broken."

Carlos felt Cecil's fingers closed on his wrist. He glanced at his boyfriend's face, which had taken on an expression of alert concentration. Carlos would almost have feared Kevin was winning Cecil over, but for that grip on his wrist.

"You're a flexible kind of guy who can help them get out of a pickle. With the internal and external contacts you bring to the role, and partnered with me, we can meet our objective together, in camaraderie -"

Cecil sprang abruptly to one side, pulling Carlos into a stumbling dash towards the corner. He pulled on what looked like empty air and a door opened through which the two of them fell into welcoming shadow.

_A brief, incomplete list of things which are dispensable: No Bake Lime Mousse Torte Recipes. Cat-Eye Glasses. Cat's Eye Marbles. Striped things. Antlers._

Carlos felt a cold linoleum floor beneath him; he sat up, cautiously, and groping around, quickly found Cecil beside him.

"Are you alright?" they asked each other, speaking as one. They laughed nervously.

"Where are we?" Carlos rummaged through the pockets of his lab coat for a flashlight.

"The clock tower. I think we should be safe here - it just teleported, so it should take Strexcorps a while to locate it."

"Wait, how did -?"

"I heard the ticking. I am not one to boast, but for someone who works in a radio booth I have a pretty keen sense of hearing. And of course, it had the distinctive smell of a thing that's about to teleport."

Filing that detail away to ask about later, Carlos shone the flashlight beam around the clock tower's interior. They were in a stairwell that led both up and down. Pulling himself up by the railing, Cecil began slowly descending the steps, Carlos following him...


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos had been in Night Vale long enough to not be surprised when Cecil lead him down the clock tower's stairs. Instead he focused on analyzing what he'd seen and heard before their escape. He sometimes found it uncomfortably hard to tell when Cecil genuinely agreed with the City Council, and when he was subverting them; but Kevin - either he really was Cecil's evil twin, or Desert Bluffs could boast "re-education" methods that were far more effective than anything the City Council had. Cecil must have been pondering on the same subject, as they descended, for he took Carlos' hand in the dark and whispered uncertainly:

"Do you think I ought to have killed Kevin? Until I saw him again I was glad I hadn't. I still don't think I could have. He – I'm not always very certain of my own existence."

"As an outside observer, I think I can vouch for your existence."

"But you always say the observer has to be unbiased. I think dating me is a conflict of interest when it comes to deciding whether I'm real or not."

"What do you suggest – a double-blind test?"

_Too many books? Not enough shelves? Where did these books come from? Did someone slip them under the door? Are they actually your wallpaper, peeling off your walls in bundles of flakes that regrow and peel off again? _

"I think I see a light. Literally, not metaphorically."

Carlos agreed that there was indeed a door ahead – literally, not metaphorically – with light seeping under it. Cecil turned the handle and they emerged blinking onto the observation deck of the Night Vale Clock Tower. An old man reclined in a deck chair with his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Cecil – what time is it by the watch I gave you?" Cecil pulled up his sleeve and examined the only real timepiece in Night Vale:

"Ten to Eleven. P.M." The sky was as bright as it had been when the Strexcorps helicopters first swarmed above Old Woman Josie's house. The old watchman grunted and lifted the brim of his hat to peer at them:

"Can't you see I'm tryin' to sleep here?" He yawned. "Aw, never mind, if it weren't you the light would be keepin' me up anyhow."

"Sorry," said Cecil. "We're on the run."

"You're sure they can't see us? Carlos contemplated the deck nervously. It looked visible enough. The watchman chuckled.

"Long as you don't stick anything over the railing, we're as invisible as hay." Carlos wasn't sure that analogy made any sense, but Cecil was nodding. And it was true that he'd never seen any hay in Night Vale. Probably another ordinary thing that was considered mythical around here. "You two fellows mind takin' over for a while? I might be able to catch a snooze inside."

"With pleasure, and civic duty. Oh, there are some cats floating at the top of the stair – can you give them some water?" The watchman nodded and mumbled something inaudible as he shuffled back into the tower. Cecil sighed and turned back to the lurid sky above his hometown, the hot breeze ruffling his hair.

Carlos contemplated his boyfriend. Cecil was indeed neither tall nor short, and neither fat nor thin – if they made it through this, he was going to find some excuse to measure his height and weight; he suspected both were the exact average for the male population of Earth – but somehow he seemed to be more… there, than anyone else the researcher had met. Carlos wasn't sure how to quantify this property or even what to call it. Realness? Even Cecil's trip on the subway hadn't drained it. Whew. He'd better find something else to look at before he forgot how much trouble they were in and pulled the broadcaster's shirtbuttons off. He picked up the watchman's binoculars and strove to focus through them.

"Hm. The Glow Cloud doesn't look too happy about our new management. It just dropped a pod of narwhales on one of their helicopters. Good going, Glow Cloud!" Carlos swept the binoculars across the townscape. "I can see the station, but they've painted it pink. At least -" He dropped the binoculars, retching.

Cecil spun round and caught him before he could flail too close to the railing. There was more alarm in Carlos' dark eyes than he'd seen since the day the scientist had first come to the studio and his sensor devices had made a sound like a nest of baby birds.

"Cecil. Oh Cecil, I thought I saw_ teeth_."


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos buried his face in Cecil's shoulder, and the image of the uncanny flesh-architecture faded gradually from his mind's eye as the Voice of Night Vale murmured to him:

"The buildings are not the town." Cecil stroked Carlos' hair. "They get put up and taken down and sometimes we have to burn them down, sometimes more than once. And one of the houses doesn't even exist. The people are the town, and we're still alive and undamaged, and we'll find the other ones who are alive and undamaged and the ones who are damaged, we'll repair, and we'll repair the town, too. I don't suppose we can really do much with the ones who aren't alive," he added, "except run away." Carlos laughed though the catch in his throat. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  
"So what's our plan?"  
"Eat something, to start with." Cecil dug through his satchel. "I've got a pudding cup and a slice of incorporeal red velvet cake left over from lunch."  
"I'll have the cake," Carlos offered. Cecil's eyes surveyed him with adoration mixed with humor, and Carlos wondered again if his boyfriend was serious this time, or just playing along with Night Vale's strange ways.  
"Divide them both?" He tore the foil lid off the pudding, handed it to Carlos, and began carefully slicing what looked like thin air with his Svitz-Army knife. "It's got a spork," he added, handing the scientist the tiny multi-tool with its enamelled blue handle. Carlos unfolded the two-pronged implement and dipped it in the pudding, which for once seemed to be fairly ordinary pre-packaged food. He tried to eat it slowly, though he could hardly recall what he'd had for lunch.

_Here are some careers it's probably too late for you to choose: Clapper puller. Gandydancer. Alewife. Dragoon._

Still recovering his spirits, Carlos comforted himself with observing Cecil fondly as he nibbled delicately at his invisible sliver of cake, checking the messages on his phone. In addition to being neither fat nor thin (Carlos reflected), Cecil was neither old nor young. Carlos was unsure of his exact age, in fact. The broadcaster's eyes had fine, expressive lines around them; but he carried his years (number unknown) lightly. "Nothing more from Old Woman Josie," he reported, unable to hide the worry in his voice. Then he knit his brow: "That's weird." He pressed the speaker button and held up the phone. A buzzing noise came from it - static - no. Insectoid:

"ZZZZtZZzzz pointzzzzzz…..burrrrried….zzzzzzzzecretworrrrrrrld zzzzztranzzzzzverzzzzze.."

"The Man in the Tan Jacket?" stated Carlos. His voice went up at the end of the sentence, but it was not really a question.  
"I wish we knew which side that guy is on. Or that he'd make up his mind which side. Get it together, man!"  
"Who are you talking to?"  
"The guy on the phone. He left me a message." Cecil tapped _repeat_.  
"NO MORE MESSAGES," said the phone.  
"That can't be right. Wasn't there a message? From Old Woman Josie, maybe?"  
"I'd hoped there might be, but there's nothing. No texts either. Wait, maybe there was one? Let me check again." Carlos peered over his shoulder:  
"What is that? Some kind of symbol?" He pulled out his notebook and jotted down the sigil.  
"I wish I had my runic dictionary, but it's on my bedside table. Did I ever tell you about the adorable cat video Old Woman Josie posted once?"  
"Old Woman Josie - have you heard from her since - since midday?"  
"No," Cecil frowned at his phone. "I checked for messages, but there's nothing. No texts either."

_Ennui? Leeches. Difficulty sewing stretch fabrics? Leeches. Short on pocket change for the laundromat? Leeches. Pinkeye? Leeches._


	4. Chapter 4

The watch on Cecil's wrist told him the light should have been the dim gray of early dawn, though the false midday still beat down when he and Carlos lifted the magazines they had used to cover their eyes, and rose, somewhat stiffly, from the heap of magazines upon which they had slept (the watchman had a very extensive magazine collection). "The tower moved again during the night," he yawned. "Erm. Where to?"

"The trailer park. Maybe someone knows about Old Woman Josie."

_You gave up trying to sleep hours ago; and now you are washing down a handful of Advil with a mug of coffee, hoping to dull the headache and sharpen your brain enough to be ready to leave for your job once the clock tells you it's seven a.m. Right now it's six, so you feel surprise when someone knocks at the door of your trailer._

_Two men stand outside. One is the scientist - you recognize him by his rumbled lab coat and perfect hair. Despite this, you don't guess who the second man is - not until he opens his mouth and you hear the calming voice of the radio announcer who narrated your life, one memorable night several months ago. As before, you feel oddly pleased to hear him acknowledge you, even as you wonder how he knows so much. The scientist is glancing about, nervously, and the announcer asks if they may come in. You let them in, and pour them each a cup of coffee as they stand awkwardly outside the door of your trailer's tiny kitchen, which has room for you alone. They take the coffee gratefully and the three of you cram into your breakfast nook, you on one side, them facing you across the table._

_"What can I do for you gentlemen?" you ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. _

_"We're trying to find out if Old Woman Josie is alright," the scientist asks. His voice is crisp, anxious, not as soothing as his boyfriend's but pleasant. "She's not at home, and we don't think she has been since yesterday noon when the yellow helicopters came. You've got a good view of her house; did you see anything?"_

_You remember the darkness gathering, then clearing. You remember the men in yellow t-shirts who lowered themselves on ropes from the helicopters, each with what looked like a dart gun strapped across his back. You recall how they surrounded the old woman's house and, though you heard no audible signal, how they broke in simultaneously through every window. The angels that lived with her must have been away, for the men in yellow t-shirts reappeared almost immediately, exiting through her back door with her tranquilized body. You wanted to do something, but there were so many of them. You wonder how it is that the radio announcer needs to ask you any of this, when you own experience suggests he is omniscient._

"I'm not, actually. You just think out loud. So Old Woman Josie appeared unharmed, only tranquilized?"

_"As - as far as I could tell." You are stunned at this revelation about yourself. The announcer's face relaxes in relief. Then it tenses with hope._

"Did you see which way they took her?"

_You reply that they put her in a stretcher lowered from one of the helicopters - a slightly bigger one - and she was pulled up into it. Then the helicopter flew away in a northwesterly direction, while the rest flew back towards the downtown core. The men thank you, and the announcer asks whether your punishment for taking one of the non-ticking crates was severe. you tell him that it was, but that it's all water under the bridge now. A thought strikes the scientist. He asks you for more details about the trucks that you loaded and unloaded the crates from in your first job in Night Vale: which way they came from, which way they went. did they change, like the men who stood guard, or were they always the same two trucks. Then he asks whether they had any logos or insignia. You draw some markings from memory. He frowns at the sheet of paper as if he's seen it before, pulls a notebook from his pocket and opens it. His brown eyes widen in surprise and he shows a page to the announcer. They shake your hand hurriedly and dash off._


	5. Chapter 5

_"_Hello, dear listeners. I'm speaking to you from an undisclosed location which is definitely _not_ the front passenger seat of Carlos' sporty-yet-efficient automobile. You'll notice a change in our show's schedule from daily to intermittent and a change in our format from radio to mp3, home-burnt CD, scrawled transcripts passed from hand-to-hand, and rumour.

You've no doubt also by now noticed the changes in the broadcasts from the former NVPR, now Strexcorps Infotainment, chief among those changes being my absence, which I would like to say, here and now, is sad but voluntary. If the only thing I can do for our town is to refuse to co-operate with our current invasion by Strexcorps (who, I would like to take a moment to remind you, are the sinister corporate overlords of Desert Bluffs), well, then they will have to lull this community into a numb sense of complacency without my assistance.

Meanwhile, Carlos - our town's most beautiful and heroic scientist - and myself are investigating the current whereabouts and safety of Old Woman Josie, and possibly of the angels. More on this story as it develops, listeners.

Today's broadcast will likely be a short one, but, I hope, the first of many, until such time as I am once again able to speak to you from my own desk in our beloved NVPR station. In the meantime, listeners, NVPR interns, members of the Sheriff's Secret Police, agents of Vague Yet Menacing Government Agencies, and anyone else who may be spying on us through satellites: Stay safe. Be brave, or not. Do what it takes to keep yourself and your loved ones alive and as unharmed as possible. Good night, Night Vale – though an unnatural sunlight has lit our sky twenty-four hours a day for the past two days, Good Night."

"Any response?" They were parked out behind the Ralph's, where the Eternal Scout ceremony had taken place - months ago? It felt like years. It was a Wednesday, so no one was huddled in the hole, and they could examine a map of Night Vale without fear of disturbance. The two were still living out of Carlos' car; but most nights one of Cecil's listeners offered them a spare room or couch and the use of their shower. Carlos' team had refused to leave, but had agreed to be cautious. They were keeping all his notes safe for him, except those pertinent to the current investigation. He and Cecil had studied all the recordings of Kevin's Desert Bluffs show, and they had spent hours on the internet trying to identify the symbol drawn by the young man from the trailer park that had been on the crates in the desert; the same symbol that had mysteriously appeared in Carlos' notebook.

"A slew of reports from concerned citizens and people stating that they are definitely _not_ members of the Sheriff's Secret Police. Looks like a lot of people will be up for stoplight exemptions if this works out." Carlos had to give it to Night Vale, their years of experience in spying on each other were paying off. Cecil continued to sift through the texts on his phone:

"It looks as though the helicopter that took Old Woman Josie took off North-North-West, but then circled and landed somewhere behind the abandoned missile silo."

While he knew Cecil was no fool - a fool would never have survived in Night Vale for as long as the broadcaster apparently had - Carlos was unused to seeing him so serious. So logical. He wondered for a moment if it pained his boyfriend to drop the mask; or to put it on - he wasn't quite sure which side was real, though he was cheerfully resolved to love any and all facets of the man as they discovered themselves. He'd long since made note of the way Cecil wore his skin like an inconspicuous but beautifully-tailored suit; how every feature was exactly symmetrical; even his index and ring fingers were the exact same length as each other, on both hands. Right now Cecil's right-hand index was gently tapping a button on his mobile phone.

"Larry Leroy texted to say the number of yellow helicopters flying away from the town has increased since we started dropping hints we'd found Old Woman Josie's location. Here's hoping we've spooked them into moving her."

"Enough shots in the dark, and you'll hit something eventually."

"Indeed. Mind you, that's how Old Mr. Menendez died."

"He was shot in the dark?"

"No, he hit something, but he didn't kill it."


	6. Chapter 6

"They've doubled the number of guards on the missile silo, but they change them all every two hours and thirty-seven minutes exactly." Cecil stuck a pin in a map. It didn't actually mean anything, but he liked the gesture.

"So if we knock them all out right after the changeover, we'll have just over two-and-a-half hours uninterrupted to get in and get out."

"How do we knock out a dozen guards? I can fight if I have to, and you are attractively muscular, but -" Carlos hoisted the sprayer he'd been working on across the table:

" Two can play the tranquilizer game."

"Two or more, I hope."

* * *

Wearing a camouflage lab coat over his warmest flannels, Carlos parked the car a quarter-mile from the missile silo, and behind a large rock.

"Why do you even _have_ a camouflage lab coat?" Cecil had asked. He was wearing Intern Chad's hoodie which they'd retrieved from the Clock Tower before heading out to the desert. Koshekh and his kittens had shed so much hair on it that the broadcaster appeared to be wearing a heavy fur coat.

"Observing wildlife. Big fellow, Intern Chad?"

"Linebacker for the Night Vale Spiderwolves. That's why I thought he'd be a natural to investigate the Used and Discount Sporting Goods store on Flint Drive. At the time I thought it was a front for the World Government. Of course, from what we've learnt in the past week, it was a forward observation post for StrexCorps. You don't suppose they've got Chad prisoner, too?"

"Where there's life, there's hope. Isn't that what people say?"

"They're right, but incomplete - there's also skin, organs - well, I haven't got time for the whole thing. Of course, if Chad's still alive, the paperwork will be equivalent to an abridged Norse saga; and I think his family have already given his bedroom to his younger sister; but I expect they'd be pleased to have him back all the same." Now the two of them were trudging across the desert, trying to keep rock formations between themselves and the silo as they approached. At last, a stone's throw from the enemy's location, they crouched behind a boulder. The yellow-clad Strex guards stood in a ring around the silo.

"How long till the changeover?" Carlos whispered.

"Ten minutes." The scientist licked a forefinger and held it up:

"Wind's in our favour, let's hope it doesn't change by then."

It didn't. Fifteen minutes later, the guards were unconscious around the building's foundations and two figures were trying the door. Inside was a darkness that would have been merciful after the week's endless sunlight, if it had not been so difficult for their eyes to adjust. They groped towards a worklamp, Cecil's ears pricked for - he raised a fist and delivered a surprisingly neat blow - surprising to Carlos, who had never seen his boyfriend act in violence; surprising also, to the StrexCorp suit who fell unconscious at their feet. Cecil rubbed his knuckles and peered around for other foes. Carlos had made his way towards a straightjacketed prisoner, pulling a pair of wirecutters from one of his labcoat's capacious pockets.

"More people being held here than we expected."

"They must have answered that party invite, a few weeks back," Cecil said absently. He, too, was freeing prisoners, but eyes were roaming the room for Old Woman Josie. The Night Vale citizens seemed groggy; Carlos guessed they'd been sedated as well as bound.

"Cecil?" A heavy-set youth blinked towards the broadcaster. Cecil smiled and waved at him.

"Hello Chad. Forgive me for borrowing your hoodie, but we all thought you were dead. Can you walk? Some of these people need carrying."

"Urmph." Chad grunted as he stumbled to his feet. "Out of shape. Had me tied up here for months. Think I can help out, though." He looked Carlos up and down. "You the scientist Cecil has a crush on?"

"Er, yes. We're dating now. Did you see them bring in Old Woman Josie?"

"Over here!" called an unfamiliar voice. A woman in a sequinned t-shirt (one of the party-goers, presumably) was pointing towards a gurney surrounded by advanced-looking equipment. Old Woman Josie lay upon it, prone, inert and hooked up to the machines. Cecil had dashed to her side and was about to start pulling tubes from her arms when Carlos shouted at him:

"No, wait! We don't know what they've done - disconnecting her could be dangerous."


	7. Chapter 7

Muttering, as he found himself doing more and more often these days, that he was a seismologist, not a (on this occasion) doctor, Carlos examined the drips; presumably, even StrexCorps would label medications accurately when it was for the eyes of their own employees. One of the drips was a sedative – the sooner removed from Old Woman Josie's arm, the better, he thought. The other was saline; he figured it was to keep her hydrated while unconscious, and could also be removed for the time being; he hoped she'd regain consciousness once the sedatives currently in her system wore off. Then he came to the heart monitor.

"What's that zig-zaggy line?" Cecil asked, in a tone of suspicion. _He probably thinks it's some insidious pro-mountain propaganda_, Carlos realized, and almost laughed, despite the circumstances.

"They've been using it to watch her vital signs."

"Is this a gender-neutral They, or a plural They? In other words, do _They_ consist of the individual Intern Chad has just helpfully duct-taped to the floor," Cecil gestured, "or are there others?"

"Good point. Disconnecting her from the machine will likely tip StrexCorps off. We've got to do it sooner or later, though."

"All righty then." Cecil raised his voice so that it was audible throughout the missile silo, yet remained a smooth as if he was purring into the microphone back at NVCR: "Citizens of Night Vale. I noticed a couple of vehicles outside, and at least one of those unconscious guards, also outside, must have keys. I suggest you return home in an orderly fashion. Please note that the cars' tracking devices probably aren't in any of the usual spots, so don't waste time looking, just abandon them once you're within walking distance of town. Leave them well to the side of the highway, please, so they don't disrupt traffic. Chad, you come with us. Sorry to make you undo all that beautiful work, but could you peel that man off the floor? We'll be bringing him along, too. I plan to have a word with him," he added, all warmth momentarily draining from his voice, though his tone remained even as the desert highway outside.

_Words for 'Calm': Tranquility. D__é__tente. Quiet. Cool. Truce. Rest. Interim. Pause. _

_Eye of the storm._

They were in the attached garage of Chad's family's house. The intern was helping his parents and sister pack in case they needed to flee later. Cecil sat by the still-unconscious Old Woman Josie, stroking her hand. He'd hardly left her side since they got her back to town, except to go to their prisoner and whisper something in his ear that had him obediently answering all Carlos' subsequent questions as though his life, and possibly anything that came after, depended upon his cooperation. Unfortunately, he'd merely been an attendant, and while he was very helpful on the subject of dosages and aftercare, could tell them nothing more about his masters' motives for kidnapping the old woman.

"Teddy Williams is on his way to look her over, and I think I managed to persuade him that bringing his militia would be too conspicuous." Carlos had to admit, the manager of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex had done a competent job of patching him up when he'd needed it. He'd checked Old Woman Josie's condition himself, as best he could. She'd always seemed in good health for her age; trouble being, he wasn't sure what her age was. Right now her breathing and heart-rate were normal, even by non-Night Vale standards, and he believed it was just a question of waiting for the StrexCorps sedatives to wear off, but he didn't want to take the risk that he might have missed something a doctor would spot, not when they'd finally managed to free her.


	8. Chapter 8

_(Note: Realized I'd been writing mainly from Carlos' PoV – think I'll try switching to Cecil's for a bit.)_

Awaking from a dream of a vast city, in which he'd been standing on a balcony, citrus-flavoured cocktail in hand, watching a building that shifted from turrets to a modern glass-and-steel tower, as he squinted at it in confusion - Cecil found himself huddled on a loveseat by Old Woman Josie's bedside. Carlos was beside him, still asleep, and he was careful not to disturb him as he shifted his weight on the cushions. The scientist needed, as well as deserved, his rest. Cecil had watched the shadows under his eyes (hauntingly lovely though they were) grow worryingly deep over the past week. Cecil wished he could go back to sleep, wished he could crawl under a blanket and never come back out. _I can't take much more of this_, he thought. _I don't think I can take __**any**__ more of this_. He tried to give himself strength by meditating on one of the proverbs of Night Vale:

_Turn over your despair, contemplating it on all sides, until you can draw an outline around it. Quick, get outside the outline. Now your despair is trapped. You probably still shouldn't turn your back on it, though._

"Hey." Intern Chad's younger sister was peeking round the door that led from the garage to the kitchen; and Cecil, just for a moment, resented her for obliging him, with her child-presence, to pull himself together and appear strong and competent. Upon recognizing her, however, his smile became a real one; he hadn't put two and two together until now, be Flynns were either the unluckiest, or the luckiest, parents in Night Vale.

"Hello, Tamika."

"Mom says you and your scientist boyfriend rescued Chad."

"Well, he was sort of a bonus. Actually he helped us rescue some others."

"I guess it's ok that I have to give him his room back, then." Tamika spoke without irony, although, based upon the advanced reading skills she had demonstrated the previous summer, Cecil thought it highly unlikely that she was unaware of the concept. "I was mad at you," she continued, examining the toes of her sneakers with sudden focus, "when he disappeared. But I kept listening, in case you heard from him. It's dangerous, working in radio, isn't it?" Cecil agreed that it certainly was. Tamika nodded. "But it's dangerous being a kid, too. It's dangerous just existing. So I guess it's better to be in danger for what you do, than to not do anything and be in danger anyway." She looked up at him, awaiting comment.

"You are wise in your generation," Cecil said, because she was, and because he couldn't think of any other response.

"Is Old Woman Josie dying?" Tamika turned her brown eyes towards the small, aged figure still lying on the cot they'd set up in the empty parking place beside the family sedan.

"Teddy Williams says she'll likely be ok, but that her captors drugged her pretty heavily, and it might take a while to -"

"Cecil? Tamika? That you, child?" Cecil's despair shriveled away like a salted slug.


	9. Chapter 9 (short chapter)

The door squealed as Tamika and Josie returned, and Carlos blinked awake and fumbled in his pocket for his glasses.

"Old Woman Josie," he exclaimed, his face brightening, "How are you feeling?"

"Better now, young man. Thank you, Tamika, child. Can your parents spare you a little longer? I hear you have a good head on your shoulders." The old woman straightened her back as much as she could and looked Carlos and Cecil in the eyes. "Did you get the message?"

"Message?"

"From that fellow in the tan jacket. Drat him if he forgot to send it - he's not the most reliable person, but he can get under the radar, I'll give him that."

"Wait, wait a bit -" Carlos fumbled in one of his lab coat's other pockets and fished out his notebook. "Was this it?" he asked, opening to the page with the scrawled sigil. "I don't recall drawing it, but it was there all the same."


	10. Chapter 10

_Keep out. Restricted area. This area is restricted to, oh, say five feet by five feet. And an inch deep. I'm going to draw a line around it, to keep the out out and the in in. You'll have to pretend that line is a physically impassable barrier._

_I've got some snails inside the restricted area. The snails don't have to pretend, because they're naive enough to believe the line is a physically impassible barrier._

_You leave those snails alone. They're innocent beings._

Cecil, Carlos, Old Woman Josie and Tamika were seated around Flynn's kitchen table, scraps of paper spread out on the table top. The page from Carlos' notebook, the one with the sigil, now had TIME written across it. Old Woman Josie was sketching a second sign:

"This one is for SPACE. Night Vale and Desert Bluffs share them both."

"The crates-" Cecil interrupted.

"Got it right, young man - the ones that tick contain time; some contain space; condensed, of course. Those ones sometimes even have little buildings in them."

"So the false clocks-" That was Carlos.

"You noticed. They're supposed to keep you from noticing the flunctuations in time. You see," she continued, "there was literally no room in this town for two - well, for two towns. And neither could exist elsewhere. Do you recall those paperbacks that used to have two novels in them, and two front covers? Before your time, Tamika. Or those dolls with a head at each end - one head smiling and one frowning?"

"The two towns need each other," Cecil began.

"How," Carlos asked, "How is it you know so much about this?"

"Old Woman Josie used to be chairwoman of the Night Vale Opera," Cecil answered, as if that explained everything.

"But Desert Bluffs isn't playing fair," said Tamika.

"That's _so_ like them," muttered Cecil. "For _shame_, Desert Bluffs."

"Desert Bluffs, or Strex?" Carlos asked. "I mean, I take it this arrangement had been going on for a while. Something must have changed, and it sure looks like Strex is running the show over there."


	11. Chapter 11

_You can burn a candle at both ends, but it's not a good idea to burn both ends at the same time._

Old Woman Josie was still explaining the entropy that would soon endanger the towns. Carlos listened dutifully, but despite her words, he saw, for the first time in weeks, a ray of hope. They were not yet out of the woods - well, they were, because the trees had disappeared - Carlos felt this would have disturbed him more if the Whispering Forest had not been so plainly unnatural, especially in a desert ecosystem - but yes, though they were still under siege, the night's successful rescue had buoyed his spirits. Moreover, they had allies now. He would have stood with Cecil against the world - but there was no denying that their chances were better with a few more people on their side.

"The radio station is currently Strex's stronghold in this town. We need to get somebody in." Tamika looked up:

"Miss Josie - there's a little girl I babysit sometimes. Megan. I think she might be able to help us. She's small, but… she's small. She could easily hide in the she's pretty smart for her age."

"Of course!" Cecil turned to Carlos: "Megan is an adult man's hand. She was only born last year, but she's already starting elementary school. Very precocious child."

"The other kids and I - the ones who survived the summer reading program - we can fight our way to the station." Tamika frowned, thinking. "Get right up to it, then have them fall back. If I let myself be captured - I've got a librarian's hand, that I kept as a trophy." She turned to Cecil. "Let it be known that I wear it around my neck." Carlos was the first to realize what she was saying:

"On the day, Megan will take the place of the Librarian's hand, you mean. Then slip away once you're taken into the station" He knit his brow: "But Tamika, can we really ask so much of her?" Tamika was not quite thirteen, and according to what Cecil had said, Megan was still under two years old. "You're both very young."

"Sweet Carlos, Night Vale children grow up quickly," Cecil murmured, placing a hand upon his boyfriend's shoulder. "And Tamika has volunteered. But Megan still needs to make her choice," he added. "Will we need to reboot her computer, so she can communicate?" Carlos felt Cecil's hand, still on his shoulder, grip a little tighter, and realized that Megan wasn't the only one this plan would ask much of - after all, it was only a couple of weeks since the announcer had been attacked by the little girl's communication aid during his underground broadcast from the PTA meeting.


End file.
